Universes Unfolding: Roots of Freedom
by WriterGirl7673
Summary: Identity and history are lost when the Winter Soldier is reborn in an icy ravine. Now he is the Fist of Hydra. But fists don't have opinions or emotions. He has both. How can Hydra's commands override them? The truth: they can't.


_Hey everyone, I'm back! My apologies and other author's notes are at the end of the story because they're a little longer. So the only thing that's happening here is my disclaimer for the entire series (yes, this is a series):_ _ **I don't own Marvel.**_ _If I did, Civil War would've never happened._

 **1950**

Red hair floats around the child's face as she ducks and twists, dancing around all attacks. The dance ends with her opponent bodily thrown to the floor. A muted cry escapes, drawing the attention of the ever-watching handlers...and the girls' silent instructor. Weakness is not tolerated in a future Widow, the Asset knows.

It sends a glare at the fallen girl, the expression only easing when it sees the smug look in Romanava's eyes. A nearly irrepressible urge to ruffle her hair weighs heavily somewhere inside it. But, no, a weapon doesn't express fondness, doesn't feel the screaming urge to _protect, protect, PROTECT!_

The Asset does not care. It does not care. Weapons cannot care. Its orders were to train the girls, so it does. It signals for another girl to face Romanava….

(There's a soft unfurling confusion inside, stronger than an urge to ruffle hair. Romanava has too many syllables. Her face is too narrow, too dark, too cold and broken. Not Romanava, but another. R-something….R-a…. But the something is silenced, never really there at all, and is gone)

A thud draws its attention. Roma-Natalia emerges victor yet again and it cannot help the praise that leaves its lips: "хорошо сделанный маленький танцор."

* * *

 **Five Months Later…**

The Asset slips quietly into the empty room: Natalia's room. It—he, it's a he now—knows where the loose floorboard is, the one with everything the girl wishes to hide from her superiors. But he has long since stopped being just her superior, he is the brother she never thought to wish for. Both so starved for honest human interaction in which they aren't a tool to be used. She's even given him a name: Yasha.

There is a swooping in his gut he can now name as sorrow. It sinks deep into his lungs, his bones.

Her training with him ends in a week. And that means forgetting. He is always forgotten, or perhaps he is always forgetting. How he knows this is a mystery, something he cannot explain. That knowing is always there, some hidden part of him deep in the roots of his soul that dreads the ending of any mission, and the ever-waiting chair. So he slips the note under the dark and musty floorboards, hoping that she's willing to listen, willing to save him. His breath freezes and the swooping does not leave.

* * *

 **1957**

It awakes. Scientists move about, examining, making sure the weapon is ready for duty. It awaits its orders—unmoving. The gear is brought out, perfectly maintained, and without thought or hesitation it slips on the lightweight shirt, the thick vest, the heavy boots. Then comes the mask, snug and warm, smelling of wood polish….

...like the studio…

...tiny figures on pointed toes…

...bright red hair…

... _Natalia!_

It straightens to attention, eyes in the distance, refusing to let the onslaught of memories show. It—he, he is a he?—will be a slave no more. He will gain his freedom. Natalia too, if she is willing. But first, what year is it?

* * *

It is easy to slip funds from his current handler. The man is too confident in the idea that the Winter Soldier only does what he is told. A moment of distraction and the money is transferred and hidden away. He remains motionless and no one notices.

It is just as easy to slip away after the mission is completed, into the darkness without checking in. In the work of a few hours he has the heartfelt promises of a terrified con artist and a forged ID bearing the name Yasha Rasputin.

Yasha's feet itch to run, to hide, to never have to follow another command again. But not yet. Hydra will track him down so fast that freedom would only be a glimpse, wrenched out of his grasp before he could even feel a thing. He has patience—he has to have patience—he can play the long game.

* * *

 **1962**

The smell of polish revives the Asset yet again. This time the mission leaves him by himself for a week, and he spends it efficiently. Using stolen cash, he has a post office box in Hungary rented for the next decade. The name, based on another fake ID, is Sebestyen Zentai. The remaining funds is invested in a brillant American inventor.

* * *

 **1965**

This time he doesn't need stolen cash to continue his plan...Stark's company pays excellent dividends into the bank account he had set up last time. Another place, a new ID: Dieter Jung. He also invests in BMW to...what was the phrase...not put chickens in a basket?

* * *

 **1972**

Despite the years and the missions that end in nothing but smoke and blood, it's funny how the smell of polish doesn't seem to fade—red hair and a name that's too long and a hidden floorboard with secrets and treasures and a promise of freedom if he can only find her again and a cold and broken face that's seen too much, just like his. It's been a while since he's been able to work around his handlers, but here in Britain, he's finally done it again. His name is Brennan Wickham now.

He buys a pub from a family whose fallen on hard times, but he leaves them in charge of it. After all, it's their legacy, he's only helping them foster it. If it gives him a place to store things, all the better.

* * *

 **1979**

Yasha thinks his handlers might be getting suspicious. He's left alone much less than he used to be, so now is the waiting game. Nevertheless, he manages to get a letter sent out under the name of Jung, asking for specially designed metalwork.

* * *

 **1984**

He's in America again. Normally they don't let him alone here, but he's got four hours right now. Following the instructions of a silver-haired homeless man, he hunts down a back-alley medical room. It's one that caters mostly to desperate women, but he's able to get someone to draw liquid bone marrow and store it for him. If his handler wonders at his lack of normal functioning, nothing is said. After all, his skin has already healed from the needle…

* * *

 **1995**

The mask smells only faintly of polish now, and he wonders. Wonders why the scent has lasted so long, and wonders why it has begun to fade so quickly now. It's a good thing that his mind subconsciously resets now when wearing the mask, otherwise he'd be in trouble.

As it is, he only needs the perfect assignment to end this. He's got five safe houses, ten bank accounts, two businesses, eight emails, fourteen P.O. boxes, and twenty names. He's got a plan, he's got the means, and now all he needs is the right moment.

* * *

 **1998**

It occurs to him that Hydra might have a way to track him if he leaves. Their tech is certainly good enough for it and they're intelligent enough to use any means necessary to keep him. But if they have, why haven't they have noticed his side project already? Only one way to check.

It's not hard to find a teen willing to do it. Anyone talented enough to hack the Bank of Iceland is good enough to take a look at his arm. The combination of threats, large sums of cash, and a promise to let him scan some of the arm's tech gets Yasha an off switch on the tracker and instructions on how to remove it when he's ready.

He ignores the triumphant "Age of the geek, baby!" The bargain complete, he returns to his handlers, wrestling down the fury and desperation for freedom. He's so close. Just a little longer yet. Patience. He has to have patience. He can wait. He will wait.

* * *

 **2004**

His orders: to destroy an entire facility. Blow it up. Frame Sarkany Technologia. One week.

He's given his freedom and that is their mistake. With some quick arrangement, a few artistic pyrotechnics, and both the metal pieces and the bone marrow, he leaves a fiery headstone for the Winter Soldier. Now it's time for another to take his place.

* * *

 _So, there you have it. This series is inspired by the story "Bucky Barnes, Private Investigator" by Songbird's Tune, which works on the premise that Bucky escaped Hydra and made a life for himself as a private investigator. It made me wonder how he got free. Thus this story._

 _It's kind of gained a life of its own now. Imagine a series shaped like a tree and you'll get a good idea of how vast this is. Roots of Freedom is one of two base stories that all the others will be attached to. However, each story after these two (which I call branches) act as individual continuations of the base. In fact, it's impossible for most of them to coincide with each other. Don't worry, each story will have an intro telling you which ones are compatible with it and which ones you have to read for it to make sense._

 _Also, many thanks to Mashpotatoe Queen for being a wonderful beta!_

 _I do owe an apology to all my faithful readers of This is Not the End and Hidden Threat. Those two stories are on long-term hiatus until I can figure out how to make the plots work properly. I love both of them and I don't ever want to abandon them, but they need to take a backseat to everything else right now. The Universes Unfolding series is a bunch of shorter stories that require less time commitment from me._

 _Now, on to headcannons:_

 _First, I'm going with the headcannon that Bucky had a younger sister named Rebecca (is this canon?). Hence the name that starts with R and ends with a, but is a syllable too long._

 _Second, the ages of the characters are a little skewed. I don't believe that Natalia was a young girl when Bucky trained her, and I know her birthday is in the 20s. But I'm messing with the timing of a bunch of events, so why not this? There are other ages that will be altered in future stories, but those will be clearer when and where it's taking place._

 _Translations and Name Meanings:_

хорошо сделанный маленький танцор : _Well done, little dancer._

Yasha Rasputin: _James_ and _Crossroads_

Sebestyen Zentai: _Actually, I just thought it would be funny to put a variant of the actor's name in here. But Zentai refers to coming from a certain part of Hungary (I don't remember where)._

Dieter Jung: _Warrior of the people_ and _Young_

Brennan Wickham: _Of Braenon_ and _Village_

Sarkany Technologia: _Dragon Technology_

 _Also, bonus points to the first person to find the cameo in this story (no, I'm not talking about Stan Lee). I'll give you a small spoiler for the series if you figure it out (it's really obvious if you know the person, but you might be able to figure it out without knowing too much about them)._

 _So tell me what you think. I'd love to know what parts you loved, hated, were confused about, etc. I want to make this series as enjoyable an experience as possible and improve my writing while I do so. Just, please, no flaming and keep your comments at least partially constructive._


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